Obligation - A Carmilla Story
by 934pm
Summary: She knows. She must. This is the part where I run.


Author"s note: This came to me at work and I had to get it out. Turns out I have a end of series head canon.

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><p>This is the part where I run.<p>

Not when Mother came after news of my betrayal, again; not when the uprising began; not when the walls of Silas laid like ashes in the wind, filling the air with greyness and surrender.

No. _This_ is the part where I run.

I am fast enough.

I could be lost somewhere between the Black and Crooked Forests by midnight, away from the aftermath of a rebellion long overdue, away from the scent that still lingered in the air reminiscent of a room and of a girl, away from the inevitable end I must now make with Mother. Amid the disarray I stand in the rubble, processing. I know with absolution that the worst is yet to begin for me. The battle had been won, but I had long ago lost the war. Mother would find me, again. She would win, again. Though I know nothing of her whereabouts, I am never more than a breath away from the woman to whom I owe all obligation.

The stars would be especially beautiful tonight, I was certain.

The only conciliatory thought I had was that for Laura, and her fiery entourage, the worst was over. Neither Mother, nor any of her children, would dare chance so much as a negative thought toward the redheaded girls, or Laura. Especially Laura.

Her friends are of little consequence to me now, only a thought at all because of her emotional attachment.

The two shorter ones, I can see, are huddled together by the remains of a staircase that once led into the library. Now only a few steps remain. Perry is fussing over Lafontaine though the former is arguably in worse condition. Her first concern had always been the accident prone woman who had a few minor scratches compared to the long gash Perry had earned that traced her left arm from shoulder to wrist. No words are spoken between the pair. There needn't be; LaFontaine knows that Perry is scolding her about running head first at one of Mother's children with nothing but a wooden bat soaked in garlic, despite being repeatedly told garlic, for a vampire, causes nothing more than an eye roll; Perry knows that LaFontaine was only mindless because eyes and intentions were set on her. It is that part of their odd union which I respect and envy. Their obligation is chosen and fulfilled with more honesty than any I have ever known a human capable.

I know I do not need to worry about their well being or happiness. Not that I had intentions to such a thing.

Danny walks in front of them, moving rapidly through the wreckage, pointing and talking sternly to anyone she encounters as she attempts to orchestrate a campus-wide, or what remains of it, check-in. Who is injured? Who is missing? Who can help bandage? Who can lead the search? Who was the imbecile still setting off fireworks from behind the falling astronomy building?

Although I have my personal opinion of the girl, others do not seem to share it. She is respected by the mass chaos currently inhabiting the campus. It may be her stature, or perhaps her calm demeanor, that commands recognition. I do not care to find out which. It is not important anymore. She has already won. I know this as well as she does. In this matter she holds the slightest amount of understanding for me. I refuse to submit Laura to the lifestyle I lead. I would not wish it upon my enemies.

Our eyes meet and for the first time since our introduction she does not snarl at me. I can see, though, her determination to continue to protect the only thing we have in common from the one thing she feels can bring Laura harm. It is this part of her I find a sliver of understanding. I cannot blame her. The world in which she exists knows me, and my kind, to be evil, heartless beings, void of emotion and morality.

She is not wrong.

My heart has not beat in three centuries.

We are, however, not empty. We feel deeply and at times without reservation or regard for the pain to which we claim immune. We are not shielded from pain, only death. It is that which is the greatest burden: knowing we will outlive lifetimes and outlast loves and see sunsets which they will know nothing of, though we will feel their warmth upon us.

It is best said like this: if life is fire, we are the ashes that remain after the flames have been buried, suffocated with dirt and covered with grass. We know we should not love any but our kind, but how can we love our own when they know so intimately what we are, what we are capable of being.

It is the humans that find the light in our darkness.

It is the breathing that fill our lungs with hope.

It is the perpetually dying that bring life to the eternally dead.

As our eyes remain on each other, I sense her recognition of what I am silently promising and subsequently requesting.

_Tonight. Just tonight._

I receive a emphatic break of her lips. She receives a grateful break of mine. I follow her eyes as they lead mine across the battle ground to where Laura is pacing, her computer in hand, her free arm waving animatedly around as she spoke quickly, detailing the event. Her face is shaded from the destruction around her and her clothes are torn in more places than one and her hair is matted and blowing angrily in the wind and she is a brand of beautiful I have never before been privileged to see.

It is when she turns her computer around to capture the scene that she finally sees me. Her eyes draw her mouth up to a smile I will never tire of seeing. She closes the overused machine and, tucking it under her arm, makes her way to me. She trips over a log, and then a pile of bricks, and a twig, and her own shoelace before she is in front of me. I cannot help but roll my eyes.

She breaths heavily, her eyes bright with victory as she searches mine, for what, I am not certain. All I know is that she does not find it. Her face drops and she is about to question me, interrogate me if she must, to find the answer but I do not give her opportunity.

I take her dusted cheeks in my swollen hands and I pull her lips onto mine. I do not request more and she does not offer. The simplest of touches is all I need. Her arm encases my waist and I feel the flat block of her computer pressed firmly against my spine. The laugh that sounds in my throat pulls my lips from hers. Even a kiss is not enough for her to part with it. She is looking at me as if to say, _you didn't give much warning;_ _what do you expect me to do with it?_

I place my forehead on hers in response. _Nothing less, cutie._

She smiles again, tentatively. She wants to but does not question my obvious desire merely to stand there with her and breathe her in.

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><p>The sun has all but set. The students all but disappeared. We are still holding onto each other: my hands on her shoulders, encircling her waist; her head on my shoulder, pulling me into whatever space she can offer.<p>

She knows.

She must.

_This_ is the part where I run.

She steals glances through the blackness of the night into that of my soul, her warmth against my skin and my lips against her hair, I feel the desire to be alive again. I hear the steadiness of her heart and I find mine wanting, desperately, to beat again, to have blood run through my veins enough to display the rapid pulse that, in that moment of holding her, would rival that of Danny's when Laura smiles, or Perry's when LaFontaine exists, or, on occasion, Laura when she looks at me.

_This_ is why I must run.

But, until morning, we lay together on a bed of grass and dirt, the stars offering a soft glow through the dusts of war and tonight and, just for tonight, she is mine.


End file.
